Dark Touches
by littlesleepingbird
Summary: Lavender Brown has made quite a name for herself as a seer since the war ended. One of her talents is the ability to see the history of objects when she holds them. The Auror department puts this to use in helping them solve murders by having her touch the suspected weapons. Dramione - Oneshot - Complete. Winner "Solved It!" Halloween Cluedo Fest @ Dramione Fanfiction Forum


This story was written for the 2018 Halloween Competition (Theme: Cluedo) at the Dramione Fanfiction Forum on FB.

My prompt was: _Lavender Brown has made quite a name for herself as a seer since the war ended. One of her talents is the ability to see the history of objects when she holds them. The Auror department puts this to use in helping them solve murders by having her touch the suspected weapons._

It won _**runner-up**_ for "One Bullet Left (Best Use of Weapons or Spells) and _**Solved It!** (_Admin's pick!)

* * *

A small bell tinkled above Hermione Granger as she let herself in the darkened shop at the end of Diagon Alley. She hadn't heard from the proprietor of the shop in nearly three years, said owner choosing to keep to herself after the massive battle that took place at Hogwarts. Hermione hated to disturb her, even all these years later, but she had nowhere left to turn for more information.

After returning to Hogwarts to study for her NEWT examinations, Hermione took up the reins as an Auror, something altogether unexpected of her, where she flourished as an investigator of mysterious crimes. Her partner was also unexpected, but after serving two years on the force together, they were closer than she'd ever imagined, beginning as acquaintances, growing into friends, and blossoming into lovers during their time spent together.

He stepped into the shop behind her, shouldering off his heavy woolen coat. The air within the shop was thick and heavy, warm with the scent of tea leaves and incense.

The steps that were approaching stopped suddenly and Hermione looked up to see the shop owner standing in front of her with a look of confusion and shock upon her face.

"Hermione." she said softly, "What are you doing here? And what is _he_ doing here?"

Hermione stepped forward slowly, holding a hand out to her old classmate as she moved.

"Lavender, I'm working with the Ministry, as an Auror, and he's my partner. We're investigating a murder and we need your help," she explained.

"Oh no, no no no. You just turn around and leave, I'm not helping the Ministry, and I'm certainly not helping _him._ " Lavender sneered.

"Miss Brown, please. I know we aren't on any sort of friendly terms, but the Ministry needs your assistance. We need your help," the man said.

"Why would I help _you,_ Draco Malfoy? After everything you've done?" Lavender was near hysterics, and Hermione knew she needed to intervene.

"Listen, Lavender," she said gently, "I know this is hard and we wouldn't have bothered you if we had any choice in the matter. There was a murder. The victim is one of our classmates, and so is the suspect. I can't tell you much more, without your agreement to assist and swearing to secrecy until trials, but we've heard of your ability, and you're truly our only option."

Lavender dropped her chin to her chest, heaving a sigh and shaking slightly. "I really, really hate that _ability_ you know," she said softly. "Come on, I don't want to help, but I will." The girl shrugged, lifting her scar-ridden face to the light, before turning away from the two Aurors. "Let's at least sit where it's comfortable," she said, before leading the group to a small tea room at the back of the shop.

* * *

After the three had settled into the room, tea served piping hot between them, Hermione had Lavender swear a secrecy vow regarding the investigation.

"Well, now that we're all taken care of with the vow, I can tell you a bit about what's happened," Hermione said. "A week ago, there was a large gathering of the Order of the Phoenix. It was one of their many parties to continue celebrating the death of Voldemort, although personally, I don't really see the point after three years, in having parties."

Draco nudged Hermione in the side as she rambled off-topic.

"Right, anyways." Hermione blushed, "I didn't attend, I never do anymore, but at this party, someone was hurt. Murdered. We're not sure who did it, or how. We've gathered everyone in attendance for interviews and we've got boxes full of potential evidence, but we can't get loud about the situation. The public just adores the Order and having this controversy out in the papers would be a blow to the community."

Draco spoke up then. "Miss Brown, we understand your gift allows you to view the history of objects. We'd like you to take a look at a few items. Throughout the interview process, several of the party attendees claimed they knew the murderer and the murder weapon, and we could use some guidance to see if your touch will allow you to see the events that occurred with said weapon."

Lavender looked queasy at the thought of having to hold an object that had been used for such a dark purpose.

"Who was killed?" she asked quietly, "I need to know before I agree to touch the objects."

Draco and Hermione shared a glance before Draco spoke again. "It was Hannah Abbott."

Lavender sucked in a breath. She hadn't been close to the girl, but they'd trained in the DA together and had become friends during their seventh year, hiding in the Room of Requirement.

"Okay," she said, "What are the items?"

Hermione pulled a box out of her pocket, whipping her wand in a circle to enlarge it to its normal size, before beginning to pull out random objects.

"Each one of these items has been brought up during our investigation interviews by party attendees as a potential weapon. A candelabra, a goblin forged silver dagger, a piece of lead piping, a spanner, and a muggle revolver. We don't really know which one of these was the weapon used to kill Hannah, as this type of murder is so uncommon in our world. We generally see spell based deaths, and this was violently physical." Hermione explained with a small shudder.

Lavender closed her eyes, centering herself as she felt entirely overwhelmed and a bit nauseous.

After several quiet moments, she opened her eyes, looking between the two Aurors sitting nervously on her sofa. "Where should we begin?"

Draco picked up the dagger as Lavender stripped off her elbow length gloves. He held it out to her gingerly, and she grasped onto the handle with shaking fingers.

* * *

 _The Night of the Party_  
 _Grimmauld Place_  
 _Drawing Room_

Harry Potter sat quietly on a battered sofa in his drawing room, isolated from the loud party happening just outside the door he'd sealed with a colloportus and a silencio. He _hated_ these parties. He hated the idea of continuing to celebrate year after year, and he wanted to just move on with his life.

He'd made a quick round of the gathered guests, saying hello and shaking hands, and then promptly disappeared to his drawing room for privacy. This wasn't his favorite room of the house, for certain, but he knew that it would be the last place anyone would think to look for him.

He stood and made his way to the liquor cabinet, unlocking the glass doors and sliding out a large bottle of firewhiskey and a crystal tumbler. Hidden behind all the bottles, he knew, was a goblin forged silver knife. One he really shouldn't have anymore, but that held significance in his life.

He picked up the dagger, remembering the words carved into Hermione's skin, and the way it embedded itself into Dobby's side. A small tear slid down his cheek as he rubbed the handle in his palm, remembering his best friend and wishing she was in attendance this night if even to just complain about the whole thing with him.

Shouting and banging roused him from his thoughts, and he pulled open the door to the room to reveal a red-faced Ginny Weasley in the hall.

"Harry, what in the world are you doing in here?" she questioned him. "People are looking for you. You can't just hide away!"

He set the dagger gently back in the liquor cabinet, before warding the entire thing, turning to his new wife, grasping her hand, and shrugging.

"I just hate this, all of it," he said, as she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"I know," she whispered in response, "I know, Harry."

* * *

Lavender set the dagger down on the table in front of her before raising her eyes to meet Hermione's gaze.

"It wasn't the dagger," she said firmly.

Hermione looked a bit shocked, that the girl was so certain, but trusted enough in the magic that allowed her to see the memories surrounding an object.

"Can you tell us where the dagger was left?" she asked Lavender.

"It was in the sitting room, in a liquor cabinet" she responded, "What's next?"

Hermione held out a beautiful golden candelabra, and Lavender took a shaking breath before wrapping her fingers around the stem.

* * *

 _The Night of the Party_  
 _Grimmauld Place  
Library_

Luna Lovegood enjoyed parties, she always had, as they often times felt like the only time she socialized anymore. She wasn't particularly fond of _this_ party, but she came, year after year, to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, to celebrate the death of a man who would've certainly ruined their world.

She'd been more than a little isolated since the war ended. Her stay in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor had affected her deeply, and she withdrew into herself, choosing to spend time with her Father and her fiance, rather than explore the world, study, or work. She didn't mind running the Quibbler, although the fun and eccentricity that she'd found in life before the war had almost all but disappeared.

She loved this library though and found it a comforting place to hide when memories threatened to overwhelm her. She supposed that's why Hermione didn't attend these parties anymore. It was just too harsh of a reminder of all that had happened. Hermione loved this library just as much as she did, and she had many memories of the two of them up late reading by candlelight the summer before they returned to Hogwarts for their last year of education.

Hermione was often the only person who didn't make fun of her for being a bit wild in her thoughts and was probably the only friend she had who truly understood the horror of being held captive during a war.

Luna trailed her fingers along the walls of books that made up the Black Library, pausing here and there to pull out a dusty tome and flip through it, before continuing on her journey.

She was caught up in her own thoughts and memories and jumped slightly when strong hands wove their way around her waist, pulling her against a firm chest.

She inhaled deeply, the scent of freshly tilled earth, spring rain, and glittering steel invading her senses. She relaxed against the body pressed firmly into her.

"Neville," she sighed, before turning around in his arms. "What are you doing up here?"

"I was looking for you." he responded, "Are you doing all right?"

She stepped out of his embrace, reaching for a candelabra that was perched on a shelf nearby, before grabbing his hand and leading him to the chairs in front of the fire.

"Even with the fire, it's so dark in this room," she said softly. It seemed like a random comment, but she continued. "Hermione and I would always sit here and read, with the fire blazing and these candles between us, and it still felt so dark. I think it's just the times. It's probably not that dark, it just _feels_ so dark, doesn't it?"

Neville's heart wrenched in his chest as he looked at the woman he loved. "Luna," he whispered. "It's okay that it's dark. It's dark for all of us."

He leaned over in his chair, taking her hand and raising it softly to his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"I'm here to help you light the way," he told her, as she cried.

* * *

Lavender trembled with the emotion wrought from the golden candelabra in her hands. She looked sadly at Hermione, unsure if the girl even realized how she'd centered in the two memories she'd witnessed thus far in the evening.

"It wasn't the candelabra," she said to Draco. "And it was in the library, on a table by the fire".

She knew they were asking the location to verify that the memories she'd extracted from the objects were valid, so she didn't bother getting upset about the questioning.

Draco nodded grimly, not wanting to put the girl through the stress of having to touch each of the objects, but knowing they needed answers.

He held out the spanner to her.

He was surprised when she chuckled slightly. "Do you know muggles named this thing after an animal?" she said. "They call it a monkey wrench!"

A quick glance to Hermione confirmed the statement, but he didn't say anything further as Lavender curled her fingers around the smooth metal.

* * *

 _The Night of the Party_  
 _Grimmauld Place  
Kitchen_

Arthur Weasley was a quiet man. He enjoyed spending time with his family, working, and tinkering with muggle objects. He was hiding in the kitchen of Grimmauld during yet another party because he couldn't bear to celebrate, year after year while remembering that one of his sons was in the ground.

He plopped down on the long bench at the gnarled old table, summoning a kettle and setting it to boil. He knew his wife would be joining him soon as she never fully recovered after the death of Fred and he knew killing Bellatrix took a hard toll on her psyche as well.

He rose from his seat and began pulling open drawers, looking for spare tea bags that he could use. He had opened three already before he found one that the family had stored old tools in, an odd place for such junk, he thought, in the kitchen, though he reached in and grabbed a rusty spanner, spinning it in his hands.

As he fiddled with the tool, he heard his wife enter the room, walking to the furthest drawer and pulling it open, digging in the back and coming out with two bags of English Breakfast.

"I always kept a few stored over here, away from the rest, because I knew it was your favorite," she said to him with a small smile.

"Perfect," he responded, as he lifted the boiling kettle off the stovetop and poured them each a cup full of steaming hot water. Molly dropped the bags in, leaning heavily against his side as they watched the water slowly darken.

He rubbed a hand up and down her arm, trying to comfort her.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"Everything feels wrong," she said softly. "I know the war is over and we're moving on and we're supposed to be happy and free, but it doesn't _feel_ over. It's so heavy."

He nodded quietly, not sure what to say, as his heart was broken as well.

"It takes time." he said eventually, "It might not ever be normal again. We just have to live with it however it finally settles."

"I don't know why we keep coming here. To this place." she said, "I hate it here. _Everyone_ hates it here. Harry can't even live here! We just come, clean up, have a party, and leave."

"Well, there's a lot of history in these rooms. A lot of pain, and memories, for all of us," he said.

"I wish the kids were happier," she told him, sipping her tea gently. "I know they're doing okay. Ginny and Harry love each other and they're not alone. Percy likes his job. Bill has Fleur and the baby, and Charlie has his blasted dragons and George is busy with the shop. I thought Ron would have Hermione but that boy... I don't quite understand him."

"They'll be okay, Molly," he told her, lifting her chin to look in her eyes. "They'll be alright. We all will."

She gasped out a sob, stumbling to the bench to sit.

"I want them to be more than okay Arthur. There's more to life than just getting through!" she cried. "They deserve so much more!"

Arthur drew his sobbing wife into his arms, wanting nothing more than to take away the pain she felt.

"Let's go home, dear," he said softly to her, as he set the spanner down on the ancient table, before reaching to take her hand firmly in his own.

* * *

Lavender dropped the spanner quickly, wishing she could rinse her mind of the pain radiating through the memory she'd just witnessed. To see the parents of her childhood boyfriend hurting so sharply was something she would rather forget.

"Not the spanner," she said to Draco and Hermione, hanging her head between her hands, her elbows resting on her knees. She wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, screw the rest of the objects.

Hermione hesitated, before reaching a hand to Lavender's shoulder, trying to comfort the girl.

"I'm sorry Lavender, I know this is hard," she said gently.

Lavender scoffed, thinking Hermione was an idiot because she couldn't truly _know_ what it was like to touch these objects.

"The spanner, it was on the kitchen table," Lavender told Draco.

"We're almost done, right, just the last two?" she asked, as Draco held out the muggle revolver to her.

"Only two more," he said, as she grasped the gun in her hands.

* * *

 _The Night of the Party_  
 _Grimmauld Place  
Bedroom of Sirius Black_

George Weasley found himself in the bedroom of Sirius Black quite often when he attended these wretched Order parties. He never knew quite why he found such comfort among the red and gold decorations in the drab house.

He idolized Black as a young teen when he'd found out the man was part of the infamous Marauders and found him to be hilarious, smart, and quick as a whip when he'd gotten to know him after Black escaped Azkaban. He was horribly sad when the man died.

He flopped onto the burgundy comforter, lying under the canopy with the permanently stuck posters of women clad in barely anything. He chuckled softly as he remembered Sirius telling him how angry his Mother had been when he'd put the posters up, and when she couldn't get them down.

He hated coming to these parties. He understood why the remaining members of the order kept hosting them, year after year, but it didn't make him hate the gatherings any less. He hated celebrating when he was only half of a whole when his twin was gone forever. He hated putting on a smile and pretending to be enjoying himself while trying not to completely break down.

So he came, smiled, dropped some prank treats in the mix, and snuck off by himself as quickly as he could.

He found small comfort in knowing that the room he occupied at the moment once held a man who felt just as despondent as himself, although he'd wish the feeling on no one if he could help it.

He tore himself from the bed to have a look around the room, again, as if he didn't know each of the hidden compartments that Sirius had rigged up over the years. He knew what he wanted, so he plopped down at the heavy oak desk, reaching his hand underneath to the very back to trigger the opening of a small drawer on the left side.

He looked into the drawer, remembering what Sirius had told him about the object within. How muggles used this to blow each other to pieces, in times of danger. He said he'd bought it _just in case_ although George didn't quite know what he might have used it for at the time. Spells could do much more damage, were easier to aim, and were quicker.

He'd asked Sirius about it, why he'd choose to use a muggle revolver, instead of a spell, and Sirius mumbled beneath his breath about not being able to really hurt yourself with a spell. George knew Sirius hadn't meant for him to hear that, so he ignored the sad comment at the time.

As he looked down at the shiny silver revolver, he remembered vividly what Sirius had said. He'd researched the weapon in the years following that comment, and knew that muggles often used it to snuff out their own life force in times of despair. He couldn't imagine sending an Avada Kedavra at himself, and he suddenly understood why Sirius had this tucked away in here.

He pulled the weapon from its hiding spot, turning it over and over in his hands as he pondered the feeling of hopelessness that had crept into his chest.

He opened the chamber where the bullets were housed, noticing it had only one projectile loaded.

After closing the chamber, he thought of the anguish that filled him. He remembered his brother, his twin, his other half, and let out a soft wail of grief.

He held the gun to his temple, as he'd read that was how the muggles did it, and prepared to squeeze the trigger, wanting nothing more than to be reunited with Fred.

As he did, he heard a soft voice in his head, a whisper of a conversation he once held with Hermione after the final battle when they hunkered down in their misery within the walls of Grimmauld. It was a quote by a muggle author that she loved.

" _No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."_

Fear, he decided at that moment, was what had him pointing this weapon at his own head. He shook violently as he lowered the revolver and placed it delicately back in the drawer.

He was letting fear of living without Fred run his life, he realized.

He stood sharply and apparated away, not bothering to even say goodbye.

* * *

Lavender dropped the revolver, letting it clatter to the floor as she wept.

The memories seemed to be getting more emotional, and it tore her apart to know that even those whom she thought were happy and whole were, in their hearts, just as broken as she was.

Hermione leaped from the sofa she was seated on to sit next to Lavender. She pulled the weeping girl into her embrace, running her hand over her hair and whispering soothing words of comfort.

She hated to ask, she hated her job at this moment and would have loved to walk out the door and never return, to leave the girl in peace, but she knew she couldn't.

"Lavender, was it the revolver?" she asked quietly.

Lavender erupted in another round of sobs, "No!" she wailed horribly, her face red and swollen with her tears.

Draco looked at the two women wrapped up in each other's arms, one hysterically crying and the other looking at him for strength.

He wanted to offer his comfort, his embrace, to the woman he loved, who had suffered so much in her life but knew at this moment he'd have to be the strong one.

"Where was it?" he asked, hating himself for it.

"The bedroom," Lavender gasped, "It was in Sirius Black's bedroom."

Lavender sat up suddenly, looking at him with a glare. "Well, now you know. There's only one left, so you know the weapon. You can leave. Get out." she demanded.

Hermione tightened her arms around the woman, realizing she'd been pushed to her limits, and hating to ask for more.

"Lavender," she said, "We need to be sure. We need you to touch the rope, and we need to know who did it. Please." she pleaded.

Lavender sunk to her knees on the plush carpet, a fresh round of sobs bubbling in her chest as she reached out her hand.

Draco set the rope gently into her palm before helping her close her fingers around it.

* * *

 _The Night of the Party_  
 _Grimmauld Place  
Wine Cellar_

Ron Weasley _loved_ these parties! He loved celebrating the removal of the snake scum Voldemort from the world, and he loved the praise he received for his part in it.

He could tell he was one of the few who enjoyed the parties, but he thought that people should be moving on, getting over the deaths, and living their lives! Why wallow, that was his motto.

He arrived early to the shindig, he'd had a few beers at home to get started, knowing he'd have to put up with some people's tears tonight, and he wasn't sure he could manage it sober. He hadn't stopped drinking since he arrived, and with the supply running a bit thin upstairs, he stumbled down to the wine cellar to see if he could dig something up.

There were shelves upon shelves of wine down here, and he scoffed to think it all wasted except for the parties that the old house held every now and then. He wondered if he could sneak some out and back to his flat. Why buy more when there's so much here already!

He made his way around the cellar, looking at the wines, whiskeys, and ales that were stored in the cool, dry room. He noticed an old dumbwaiter in the back of the room, a holdover from before the Blacks had owned the house. It was a muggle invention, to transport goods throughout the many levels of the home, though he supposed it hadn't been used in decades, with house elf's being able to pop about as they wished.

A thick rope hung from the small elevator, and he gave it a hard yank, hoping to see just how the equipment worked. He barked out a short laugh as the rope fell into his hands. Clearly, he wasn't going to be checking out the dumbwaiter anytime soon.

He swung the rope in circles as he continued his journey around the room, grabbing a bottle of dry red, and heading back towards the ale.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a creak on the stairs that led to the old cellar, someone else was coming down.

He smiled wryly when he saw Hannah Abbott enter the space, her blonde hair swinging behind her as she strode into the room. Ron figured she knew her way around a wine cellar. She'd taken over running the Leaky Cauldron after the war, and they probably had a cellar five times this size.

He snuck quietly behind her, watching as she traced the bottles with reverence, turning them and blowing off the dust to view the labels.

He set the bottle of wine down on a nearby shelf and reached out and grabbed her by the wrist.

She let out a stifled scream as she turned towards him.

"Merlin, Ron!" she gasped, "You scared the daylights out of me!"

"Sorry," he chuckled, "What're you doing down here?"

"Oh... they're running a bit short upstairs, figured I'd bring some more up," she responded.

Ron stepped closer to her, inhaling sharply her scent, honey and cinnamon. He lifted a hand to grab some of her hair, bringing it to his nose.

"You smell good," he said, as he inched towards her.

She laughed nervously, stepping away from him. "Ron, I've already told you, I'm dating Seamus. He's upstairs."

Ron snarled. He'd been to the Leaky nearly every night for a year, trying to get the woman to bed him, but she was firm in her so-called love for the Irish wizard.

"Come on Hannah," he said as he cracked open the bottle of ale he still held, taking a huge swallow before setting it down with the wine. He continued swinging the rope in a circle. "Just one kiss, and then I won't bug you again."

She stepped back again, her back hitting the shelf behind her. "No, Ron," she said pushing him away with her hands against his chest.

Ron growled, he _hated_ when women told him no. It started with Hermione, the stupid prude, who told him that kiss in the chamber was just from excitement and not because she actually wanted him. Then the stuck-up know it all went for Draco sodding Malfoy!

Ron was a war hero! Women fell over their feet to have a chance with him and yet here was Hannah, denying him. _Again._

He grabbed her wrist where it rested lightly against his chest. He knew she was trying to push him away and he wanted none of it. He spun her around violently shoving her against the shelves, her back pressed against his chest.

She let out a scream and he slapped his hand over her mouth.

"Shut up," he ground out, while she struggled in his grasp.

He needed to hold her down, get her to stop moving. She'd realize this would be pleasurable if she'd just calm down already!

He looked at the rope still hanging limply in her hand and knew he could put it use.

* * *

Lavender screamed, throwing the rope across the room before collapsing to the floor. Her breath was coming in short gasps, tears streaming over her cheeks as she tried to regain her composure.

She couldn't. She turned and vomited, the memory of what Ron had done to that poor girl burned into her brain, something she'd never forget.

Hermione sent a quick evanesco at the mess, before once again kneeling next to the sobbing witch. She had a strong calming draught in her robes, and she pulled it out.

"Lavender," she whispered.

The girl looked at her, her eyes haunted and dark. A shiver went through Hermione at the sight.

"This is a calming draught. I brewed it myself. I want to give it to you, but I can't. Not until we know." she explained.

Lavender snatched the vial from her hand.

"It was Ron. With the rope. In the Wine Cellar." she choked out the words, before uncorking the draught, swallowing it in one go.

"Now get the fuck out, and never come back," Lavender screamed at the two Aurors. "Get out! Get out!"

Hermione grabbed Draco and pulled him to the front of the store. He wrapped his arms around her tenderly as she sobbed. Her childhood best friend, a _murderer._ He knew this was just another straw in her already burdensome load and he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, before apparating them away.

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